Lock You Down (Rivers Brothers 2)

The door to the bathroom opened, drawing my attention over. To Nixon's gloriously naked form.

I wasn't sure it was possible to get sick of seeing him in my space looking like he looked right then.

But he wasn't looking at me like I was looking at him.

Oh, no.

His focus was on the damn closet.

My smile curved up, a laugh bubbling up. "It's not going to come to life, burst out of the closet, and demand your soul, Nixon," I told him, watching as his gaze slid to mine, eyes bright, smile of the warm variety.

"You can't know that for sure," he said, moving toward the bed, climbing under the covers, moving in at my side, pulling me close.

Invited to do so, I rested my head on his chest, taking a deep breath, breathing him in. It wasn't a scent I had a name for. A hint of soap, maybe a little deodorant of the spicy sort, but mostly just... him. I wished I could bottle it, spray it on one of those aromatherapy necklaces, wear it around day and night.

Nixon's fingers sifted absentmindedly through my hair as we enjoyed the silence for a long moment. It was only interrupted by the thump of Mal jumping from one of his catwalks, sensing the coast was clear, then leaping onto the bed.

"Watch your exposed parts," I warned. "He doesn't need an excuse to strike. You have to be vigilant at all times."

A laugh rumbled through Nixon's chest, but I didn't miss the way he slid his thigh all the way under the blankets.

Mal stood at the edge of the bed, tail twitching, eyes moving between us, likely judging us for our activities while simultaneously pissed at me for having his boy bits chopped off, so he couldn't prowl for some hot kitties and could enjoy a little carnal love too.

"Watch out; he's on the move," I warned as he started taking freakishly slow steps forward, moving up between Nixon's slightly parted legs.

Then he did something I never could have expected.

He laid down on Nixon's lap.

"You bastard!" I said, mouth gaping at the sight. Mal never willingly sat on or near me. Ever. Not even when he was all doped up from the anesthesia from aforementioned ball-removal.

Mal's gaze slid to me for a long, stony moment, before he turned back to Nixon, rubbing his head against his stomach, and letting out a low, rumbling purr.

"What!" I hissed, mouth going even wider. "He has never purred before. I thought his purr box was broken."

"His purr box?" Nixon asked, brow raising, shooting me one of those smirks of his.

"Sorry I am not up with my cat anatomy," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "I guess he's had a bit of a change of heart," I said, smiling as my hand reached out toward him for a little scratch. "Ow!" I yelped when his sharp little cat teeth sank into my finger.

"Guess he just likes me," Nixon said, shrugging, reaching out to rub Mal's head. Which was allowed. And even enjoyed.

It was like watching a dog snuggle a squirrel instead of killing it.

"He hasn't done anything for you, you know," I told Mal, irrationally annoyed at a cat. "I spend a fortune on that raw food of yours. I made a whole kitty playground of my home. And what do I get? Bloodshed."

"Maybe he is pissed that you named him Fuckwad," Nixon suggested, rubbing his fingers all over Mal's soft coat.

"I named him Malicious Little Fuckwad after he tried to tear my throat out when I gave him a flea bath. Shame on me for stopping the itching, right?" I asked, small-eyeing the cat who was in seventh heaven, his entire body vibrating with his seemingly never-ending purr.

With a sigh, I shifted closer to Nixon, getting an evil glare from Mal in doing so. "You're going to have to share him, you jerk," I told the cat like he could understand me. "And just so you know, he likes me better," I added, wrinkling up my nose.

"I dunno, babe, this purring thing is relaxing as fuck. He's starting to gain some on you."

"Yeah?" I asked, smile going wicked. "I can think of other very effective ways of relaxing you," I told him, my fingers working spiders over his chest and belly, going dangerously low. But not so low that Mal could swipe at me.

His eyes went as heated as I intended. "Yeah?" he asked, voice husky. "Maybe after you feed me," he declared.

"I, ah, have... peaches," I admitted, knowing my cabinets and fridge were woefully, embarrassingly empty.

"Yeah, babe, I know," he agreed, his tongue peeking out to trace the corner of his lips suggestively, making a little shiver course through my sex at the memory of that tongue. "You got any take-out menus?" he asked.

"That I have," I agreed. "And some really good whiskey," I added, sliding away from him, getting out of the bed, not bothering to reach for a shirt or a robe, liking the way his eyes roved over me too much to cover up.